


The Hour - Life is what we make of it

by Samstown4077



Series: Randall Brown / Bel Rowley Collection [8]
Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post S2, Romance, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, otp, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: It's been three years, but it still feels like yesterday. A scene of Randall and Bel meeting in the streets of London.
Relationships: Randall Brown/Bel Rowley
Series: Randall Brown / Bel Rowley Collection [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/808311
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. Three Years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It could be a one shot, but I feel this could be also a story that goes one. Give it and me time. Maybe subscribe, as I can't promise soon-ish updates.

The summer in London was coming to an end. While the temperature was going down bit by bit and day by day, it was the sun, trying to give some last impression of a way too warm and dry season. 

Placing the money on the counter, Randall grabbed for his usual newspaper clipping it under his arm and left the store with the usual pleasantries. Stepping outside the cold hit his face unprepared, and he had to tug his coat and scarf tighter around himself. He guessed in a week the lousy weather would return and bring dark clouds, rain worse hail. The golden October was coming to an end. 

Then he turned, about to hail a cab, when he bumped into a woman coming down the street. The newspaper dropped down with a soft slapping sound, while the two gave each a grunt. 

Quickly Randall glanced for the newspaper and then to the woman, “I am sorry,” he began, reaching already for the papers. An incident he was to forget about already. 

“I didn’t see you,” the woman began, turning around, her eyes averted to the ground. There had been a noise, something she couldn’t identify so fast and yet familiar. Only when she saw a hand reach for the newest issue of the London Times, she found the connection. Odd, she thought, she should have made the connection sooner. “I am sorry.”

They faced each other than, falling into a baffled silence. It was a moment of putting it all together. A face all so familiar from times long gone. The specs, another model, but quite the same. The golden strand of hair tugged into a neat updo. A stern expression, meeting an emotion of genuine marvel. 

A hint of old memories flashing before their inner eyes. A glass of water, shattering in the conference room. Or had it been champagne? A too hasty performed toast. Farwells, goodbyes. Another day, another chance. Another news show. Parting of the ways. A pre-arranged matter, they all had known about - months prior. They shouldn’t have been surprised about the end. Yet, they still were, because emotions were so damn unpredictable. It hadn’t been easy to say goodbye. Though, what had ever been easy?

While glancing at each other, their eyes roaming over the features of the other, questions begin to form. How long ago since their last encounter? 

She with a shoebox in hand, notebooks, pens, small cacti and that one hideous yellow lamp rising over the edge. Why yellow? Who in god’s name buys a yellow lamp? 

His footsteps had left scattered echos between the walls. Just a briefcase in hand, he had an empty room sitting in his back like a threat. Leaving him with nothing but a chair and desk, and empty shelves — he had caused the collection of his belongings a day or two before. Who was sitting in his room now? And where were his two elephants these days? 

“Randall!” Her hand reached out to him: just a hint, an empty space between them. 

“Bel?” his eyes followed the movement of her hand before he ended up on the newspaper again. Stains on the edges, wrinkles. 

When he glanced up, he saw she had seen those too. Her eyes betrayed; she was worried. Something was working inside of her because of the papers. 

Some traits were never forgotten. Like; the way he used to work around pieces of paper on a wall, so they formed a neat line. The judging eyebrow raised when she had put a little dog-ear into an article because she often had so many in hand, she needed to remind herself which one she wanted to ask a question about. The way his hands sometimes fiddled without his consent.

With a long stream of air taken, he forced a reaction to his face, a soft smile. A reassurance. He placed the paperback under his arm. “What...,” he looked back to the store, then down the street, still marvelling where she had come from. 

In three years they hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t heard from each other. Vividly she remembered how they had said goodbye in front of Lime Grove. Unable to shake hands, because she was carrying that stupid box. Let alone, he never was one for shaking hands. Something that always had made him uncomfortable, so it was good holding that box. She had been sure it had been raining that day, but maybe it had been only her imagination. Why on earth should there be sunshine on a bad day? It probably had been a dull day with no particular weather whatsoever. 

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” She was surprised by herself. The last time he had crossed her mind, she couldn’t imagine telling him this. Quite a few times, she had kept querying what had happened to him. With him leaving the BBC, there was suddenly all connections cut. Randall had become a ghost, and she had wondered if he had left the country. Maybe for another news agency or for a long-overdue holiday. For him, both was probably the same. With him, no one could tell. She had tried to find some breadcrumbs he might have left, but at some point, she had come to the conclusion he hadn’t. Gone. And sometimes, late at night, after a glass of martini, she used to glance at that one photograph she had from all of them, wondering. Just a shot that was taken during a meeting, nothing special. Why? She couldn’t remember. 

It only had been three odd years, but for him at this moment, it felt like a small forever and at the same time as if it had been yesterday that she had told him to be safe. A wording he had marvelled about for seven days afterwards. ‘Be safe’. Did she think he would leave to some conflict in the world? Did she fear he would do something unreasonable because he had decided to leave his long-term family BBC? He couldn’t tell, and after seven days he had tried to forget. It had stayed with trying all these years. 

“Well,” he began, unsure how to explain the obvious to her. Still existent. Same town. Same apartment. Same old Randall. Too old for another war. Too young for a full-blown retirement. From time to time, her name peaked out under a news article. That’s why he read the London Times and not any other. Still, there was nothing more he knew—just her name in the papers. Black on white and when his fingers traced too long over the page, he found his fingers stained in black and her name missing the ‘y’. “Same.” 

“How...?” it was just one question of so many. “How are you?” 

“Good,” he said, looking at her. She hadn’t changed a tad. Young, fresh, energetic and as usual lovely in her appearance. She had an age where three years did nothing to her. “And you?”

A wide smile appeared on her face. Something she used to give him when they finally came to an agreement about the weekly broadcast. Always a battle, ever a discussion. Exhausting. Uplifting nevertheless. Fun. She missed it. The tick, the verve, his way making her better. “Good.”

They always had a perfect silent understanding of each other. A certain vibe. A giving and taking. A puzzle that fit so perfectly. Alarming at the beginning, only to be missed later. 

“I just have a lunch break,” she explained then. And hated it. 

“I see,” he glanced at the clock. “I keep you up.” 

He wasn’t even finished with the last word, “No!” A soft blush that didn’t come from the cold, and it made him smirk. Shy as ever. “I mean, yes, but…” There was a chance another three years would go by before they would meet again—a regret of its own.

Defer no time. 

“Give me your phone number,” he suggested out of a courageous mood. Afraid at the same time he had misread in her. “I’ll give you a call. Only…”

“Yes,” another smile. Quickly she reached into her pocket. There had been times shortly after finishing with her degree when she always forgot to carry a pen and paper. It had taken years to collect the habit. Right at this moment, she was glad she had. “Here.”

Randall took the piece of paper from her fingers. Her fingernails painted with a soft tone of rose. Quickly he read over the numbers. Each scribbled down quickly but carefully. The eight corrected, so it didn’t look like a nine. He nodded. Looking at her, he found her looking at him, expectantly, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Please do,” she nodded, aware it sounded not like the usual prompt, rather like something more substantial. “It’s… it’s my home phone. You can call late,” she was sure he would hesitate to call after a particular time, “it’s no problem.”

Folding the paper, he reached into his pocket, where his cigarette case sat and pushed the paper under the elastic that was around it. “I will. Promise.”

Another moment of silence where Bel smiled at him. Where Randall didn’t know where to put all this happiness of her. He hadn’t been aware he had missed it. 

She had seen or talked with the others from time to time, every few weeks or months. Randall the only one she hadn’t seen or heard off, and at this moment, just right there, it felt so right to talk to him. As if fairness finally had come around, allowing them to rekindle a friendship, they never had the chance to have fully. And then, before she could decide any other way, she stepped up and hugged him. More a leaning into him, one hand against his arm, her face gently brushing against his face. The frame of his glasses cold against her cheek. She had never done that before. 

The embrace hit him the moment he had wanted to utter a goodbye. Now it was brushed from his tongue, due to the gasp he gave: a little awkward, a surprise but not unpleasant. There was a hint of almonds and the feel of her smooth cheek against his dry Scottish skin. The contact too short to react to it. He was flabbergast.

“Call me!” she repeated then and hurried further down the street. Suddenly realising what she had done, suddenly a little coy. By the corner, she turned, finding him still dwelling at the spot, his eyes directed at her. 

He sent a nod over, and she gave a broad smile of surprise. Then he was gone, vanished in a cab and she could only hope, he’d call.

  



	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As pointed out in my notes, this story needs time. This year is so strange and I wish I could write more these days, but.. oh anyway, I finally wrote a second chapter and a third is in the making. Merry Christmas everyone.

Four days later

Not that she had expected him to call right away, like at the same evening, or the next. Taking in courtesy, his usual reservation and the possible fact, he might be busy with some sort of work. Therefore, Bel would say that three days later was a perfect time to overcome any obstacles and finally call. 

Being four days without a sign of Randall, doubt crept into Bel's head. Had she given him the wrong number? Did he lose the piece of paper? She couldn’t imagine any of it, remembering she had been very cautious writing down the right numbers. Knowing also, Randall had never misplaced a file she had given him in two years' work. Therefore, she couldn’t believe he tried to begin with such thoughtlessness now. 

At some point, she almost guessed her phone was faulty. Checking the cables and connections told her otherwise. Even her call to the operator, asking if there was a problem with her line - there wasn’t-, couldn’t reassure her completely. She was ridiculous. 

When she wasn’t out and about, she was usually in bed at ten, reading for an hour or giving the telly another chance. It was five minutes to ten, and Bel was about to call it quits when the phone rang loudly. 

For a second, she froze only to remember it could be Randall. That meant he would probably hang up after the fourth time. Leaping forward, she grabbed the receiver with one hand and softened her impact on the sofa with the other, “Hello?” it was more a gasp as a proper greeting, so she quickly added, “Miss Rowley speaking.”

“Hello, it’s me, Randall,” she could hear him give a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry, I am calling late. Maybe too late?”

She marvelled over the double meaning for a second, only to reassure him about the opposite, “it’s fine! You’re a busy man, I assume.”

For a moment, it was like two strangers accidentally having connected over the phone by the operator unsure how to resolve the problem politely and then, out of a sudden, they both remembered their times together. As if it was yesterday. 

“I try not to,” he said dryly, smiling then, and he could hear Bel snicker. It made him relax into the conversation and the chair, which stood aside from the small table for the telephone. “I dare say, you are the busy bee.” Glancing down the current issue of the London Times which laid folded in half beside the telephone. “It’s your name on page one - once again. May I congratulate or is this already routine?”

Bel had the same copy beside her. While reaching for it, she felt flattered. Randall obviously kept track of her doings, or it was happenstance. “Does it ever become a routine?” she asked then. “Did it for you?”

“Mh,” his fingers traced slowly across her printed name. “Personally I think that, when it ever becomes a routine, you should think about doing something else. Because, where is the kick out of that?”

Bel pondered if that was the reason she didn’t see his name any more anywhere. Unable to voice those thoughts as Randall - knowingly - quickly moved on to the next subject.

“Anyway, you like it there? I’ve only heard good things about them.”

“I can’t complain,” her left hand glided over the flat paper. “They pay me well and tread me well. My Head of News is a bit of a special case, but I can’t say I’m not already used to such.”

Involuntary Randall gave it a laugh. She had taken a while, but at some point, Bel had clearly understood his drift. From there on knowing how to take him, how to surprise him. 

He was glad she found a good spot at the London Times because she was way too good for anything less. If she desired, she could stay there for the rest of her life, or go back to the BBC. Having the name of The Hour in the resume, was, aside from everything that had happened, worth something. 

Shifting on the stool, Randall leaned forward, gathering some courage, “How’s Freddie doing?”

His name hadn’t peaked in any British paper or news show, no matter how often he had looked for it. It was inevitable to not talk about it, and Bel was, of course, the person to know.

“Well, he recovered. I think you know that, but,” she sighed, feeling her heart ache thinking about her friend, “he has become different after all. About two years ago, he left. Not sure where. The last postcard was from Peru.” A harsh laugh escaped her, betraying her dissatisfaction. “Peru! Why’s that? What kind of news can you find in Peru, Randall, huh?”

It was merely the hope for an explanation as to the need to vent about not understood motives. 

“Mister Lyon was always one for surprises.” It angered Randall, not having a better explanation. So, he tried again, “sometimes the body heals, but not … not the soul. Maybe he thought that heeling needed distance.”

“He could have moved to Bristol, then!” she exclaimed, one hand brushing through her hair.

“Don’t punish yourself for his actions, Bel,” his teeth bit his lower lip, feeling a dull pain then. “It’s not worth it. Heeling is a complicated thing, and for some of us, it's best to leave everything behind.”

One night, Freddie had stood in front of her door, with a bag in hand, wearing the only good coat he had ever possessed. A smile put on, betraying that something wasn’t right. They had tried to heal the wounds, and to find into a relationship, they both wanted. But the beating, and the long weeks in the hospital they both had changed. Besides the love for each other, Freddie couldn’t find any healing in Bel’s love. Knowing she would never come with him, he had made plans without her. At least, she thought by now; he had made his goodbyes to life and circumstance way before he had come to her door: a kiss and a promise of postcards. 

As much as she loved him, she hated him as much for doing so, but eventually, she had to let him go.

“And you must know, mustn’t you?” she huffed, knowing there was a path taken with no turning point. “I mean, Freddie wasn’t the only one vanishing. I even dare say, you were the one playing the trick first.”

“I am not the one being in Peru, Bel,” he countered while straightening his back. 

“No, maybe that is why your silence cuts so deep,” she quipped so fast it seemed to Randall she had that answer before him saying anything. 

“You want an apology? Have one,” he tugged at the grey jumper he was wearing over his dress shirt. “I am sorry.”

She was about to say something right away because she was sure he didn’t even know what he excused for. Then again, she was giving him quite some pressure, and it was best to let the man breath for a second before he hung up in frustration.

“I missed you, you know,” was, therefore, all she said, a long sigh added to the sentiment.

He let the newspaper tap against his forehead, “In case you try to make me feel guilty, you’re doing a good job,” wishing he could see her face now. “But you’ve always done a good job when it came to me.”

Besides wondering what he had been up to the past three years, there was this she usually wondered about. How someone uptight like Randall, could render her speechless out of nothing. Words and phrases seemingly so superficial, but Bel knew better finding a certain depth in many things Randall said. “Why… why do you say that?” and because she didn't want him to get away once more, she specified, “w-why would you say it _like that_?”

They had had so many moments with each other. The one that stood out was of them standing in front of Lame Grove, looking at each other. Unable to say what was on their minds.

“Because it’s true.”

Sometimes their relationship was nothing but an enigma to Bel. Colleagues. Friends. A faint possibility of something else. 

Raising her head, she noticed it was already past her bedtime. “It’s late.”

Randall let his head drop against the wall behind him. His legs crossed, his glasses resting in his lap, he said, “I know. You should hang up and get some sleep.”

“I should, but,” she glanced across the room to the window, seeing the pitch-black night behind the sheer curtain, “I am afraid, if I do so, it needs three more years to hear from you again.”

It was the perfect occasion to make a comment about if she didn’t trust him, what would have been unfair. He’d never hear the end of it. 

“Oh, before I forget,” she suddenly remembered, glad to have found a reason to hang on, “Lix told me - a while ago - when I hear anything of you or meet you...,” Bel hesitated. “She sends her love.”

“Oh,” it was a message that took him by surprise. “Well… let her know I got the message.”

Bel whispered a “yes” into the receiver, knowing it probably was hard for him to hear - though it didn’t matter. “I am sorry, by the way, about what happened to Sofia. I never said something and…”

The sound of exhaled air wandered from Randall’s side into Bel’s ears. “Let’s be honest; I never gave you a chance, did I?”

Bel smiled sadly, one hand rubbing absently over her slacks covered knee, “Indeed.”

“But thank you. I … I appreciate it.”

Listening to his words, Bel bit her lips, feeling a sort of anger brew in her inside, “why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you never give me a chance, Randall?” it spluttered out of her then, “or anyone else?”

It was an accusation he had foreseen would happen sooner or later, though he had hoped it wouldn’t be now. He kept silent. It was the weapon he knew how to use. 

“Listen, I am off at six tomorrow. Like every Tuesday. What do you think? We could meet up; there is a place down the street. Lots of journalists. Lots of our kind. Neutral ground.” She was well aware he wasn’t - even after all these years - not used to her jumping from one topic to the next. Even less, when it was touching a private matter. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She gave his answer a chuckle not willing to hide it, “Why did I know you would say that?”

“Because…,” he glanced across the room, to a shelf half-filled with books, an old clock and a framed black and white picture. The only one he had from his time at The Hour. All of them, standing in front of Lame Grove. He had forgotten why it existed, but he remembered that Bel had to drag him out of his office for it. Maybe that was the reason she stood aside him, not aside Freddie, who had found his spot between Isaac and Sissy. Hector and Lix in the middle. Bel and him on the right side. For someone being so annoyed by such staged moments, he was quite fond of it. “Because even taking Miss Storm into account, you know me best.”

Bel glanced at the clock. By now, it was ten minutes after midnight, and she was sure to have a trying day with the lack of sleep. Everything was said, and still, she couldn’t bring herself to hang up. “In the past three years, I always wondered if I even would get an answer, when I’d ask you why you broke contact. And now, I realise I shouldn’t have wasted time wondering.”

Randall sighed into the receiver. Doing this in person would have been hard, but doing this on the phone without seeing her was even harder - at least for him. He had heard about people having it far easier to solve such problems on the phone. “It’s not your mistake.”

“Of course not,” she said without missing a beat, finally ready to hang up. “Anyway, it was good meeting you. Good talking to you. I shouldn’t say it out loud, but I miss working with you. Having you around.”

For a few seconds, it seemed he wouldn’t say anything back, only to say, “I can only give the compliments back, Miss Rowley.”

She guessed he smiled using her surname, and no matter how angry or disappointed she was, it always made her smile too, knowing why he said Miss Rowley and not Bel. “Be safe, Mister Brown. Be safe.”

There was no chance to react to it any more, as the line went dead right afterwards. Leaving Randall with a calming static behind. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope the third chapter doesn't need as much time to be written as this. Thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone still reading this ship. I can't let go of them - I don't know why. They are too precious.  
> Also, as usual this story gets longer as intended, but I find pleasure in slowly unravelling the bond between Bel and Randall.

The next few weeks Bel couldn’t do anything else as keeping herself busy, which wasn’t that easy, as she had always been a workaholic. Coming in early, leaving late was something she delivered as her standard performance. If she arrived earlier than already, she’d get in trouble with the caretaker. A kind man, always up for a short chat with her, about her day and life. He never lectured her, but he made her aware, how much he noticed about her workload—being honestly caring about her well-being. 

“Miss Rowley, no offence,” he used to push his bonnet back over his hairline, when he was cleaning out the bins in the office, “shouldn't you be out and about with someone instead of sitting here?”

She would smile at him, and move on with her work, and he would smile back and whistle a tune before waxing the floor. 

So, there was no chance of getting busier as she was already. Yet, she pushed herself, hesitant to do breaks. And it was more straightforward as she thought. When she came home, she brought some work or a book, related to a story she was working. Reading it at home, till her eyes burned, and she was just one thing — tired. 

She didn’t like it, but what was the alternative? The short breaks she allowed herself did nothing to her but bring back the memories of the phone call she had had with Randall. Like in a play, her head went through it again and again. Dissecting every word, every pause, trying to find meaning in a notion, trying to find something that wasn’t there. And when Bel had finished with that, she found herself rewriting their dialogue in her head—putting words right, making meanings different. 

At some days, she was convinced she should have said something else, be more agreeable. Hanging up on him, maybe had been wrong. With it came the regret, knowing she hadn’t had his number, nor his address, nor the faith he’d ever call again. 

Suffering through that mind play, she found the next day, that she had reacted perfectly fine. Her emotions had been right, and she couldn’t invest in their friendship when Randall wasn’t willing to do the same. 

In the end, it was ridiculous, doing this back and forth with herself and her thoughts. That was why she tried not to take any breaks at work or home. When it was late, she considered calling Lix, her valued friend, asking how she was doing. How Rome was or how life was. Maybe she could bring the conversation toward Randall, telling Lix she had met him in the streets. Not that Lix could offer anything, aside Bel was sure she would see right through her. 

Randall occupied her mind for a few weeks, and then it finally eased away. Though he never left in his entirety. Working in a newsroom didn’t make that possible. Every time Bel walked to her Head of News, reading the imprinted letters at the door, she got reminded about one of her first meetings with Randall. There was always a sting of disappointment, when she opened that door, not finding Randall inside but someone else. 

And then, after three weeks, on a Tuesday around six pm, she stepped outside the building meeting a ghost. 

Wearing a hat and a scarf, Randall stood there with his hands in his coat pockets, shuffling from one foot to the other. 

It betrayed he was standing there for quite a bit, she guessed, trying to keep warm. For a second Bel wanted to be cross, for letting her wait three weeks. Then again, meeting his eyes, she held her fire. 

Seeing Bel’s quizzical smile, Randall spread his arms and hands in a nonchalant gesture. A fracture of a smirk resonating with it. Aside she had told him, he hadn’t been sure, she would show. He wouldn’t tell, but he would have waited another two hours before giving up. 

“Let me make a wild guess,” she approached him, “you came by this place by pure accident and decided to say hello.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “then again what did I use to say back in Lime Grove?”

“There are no coincidences,” they said in unison and shared a knowing smile. 

When Bel had to sum up their work relationship, considering a story, Randall was always the one being all in with his head while she took care of the heart-part. The problem was, neither of it was good. 

_ ‘You can’t invest all your emotions into this case, Bel! It will eat you up alive! And then there is no going back,’ he once had scolded her, when they had worked the Cilenti-case. Someone had killed the young girl, ditching her body outside of town, while simultaneously someone had broken into her flat leaving an origami crane. Coldly he had commented about the bricolage, while Bel was feeling guilty and in an uproar. _

_ ‘If I don’t do it, who will?’ she had retorted furiously. ‘You? You don’t even realise I’ve been threatened.’ _

_ They both had to learn to work the cases and together well; they had to use a bit of both - Randall more heart and Bel more head.  _

“So, you want to go, have a drink?” she asked, quickly realising her mistake, “I mean, coffee, tea — juice?”

Randall rose a hand, “no.”

Bel’s smile vanished instantly. Had she misinterpreted something? 

Realising her change of demeanour, “What I meant is, the park is down the street. How about a walk?”

Relaxing visibly, her smile grew back, “I’d love to!”

The streets were busy, and only when they reached the quieter park, they could settle aside each other for a walk. 

Watching a group of kids pacing by very close, making an older woman call out to them for some manners, made Bel tumble slightly more toward Randall. They both laughed, and Bel tugged her coat tighter around the neck. It was autumn, and Bel hadn’t prepared for a walk after work.

Quickly Randall reached for his scarf, giving it to her. She was about to decline it, so he cut her off, “I insist.” 

Nodding thankfully, she let the soft fabric, fall around her skin, tugging it under the edges of her coat. Randall nodded pleased and folded up his collar, which, so Bel figured, looked quite adventures for him.

“I am glad you came,” Bel tried not to get distracted by the scent of Randall, which lingered in the scarf and now by her nose. “It’s three weeks since … .”

They both knew she didn’t need to extend her feelings about it. Not that Randall was an open book to her, but after their fight over the origami crane and that she had felt unsafe then, he had begun to show more empathy toward her. An ability he hadn’t learned that day but had understood that it was okay to show it — toward her. 

“I assume, I fulfilled all the clichés people see in me,” he said after a while, letting his eyes trail toward the end of the park distantly. 

“And those are?” she gave him a side glance, seeing him smile to himself. “You had your reasons, I guess.”

He let out a long huff, seeing his breath form into visible clouds, “Let’s be honest, I had no reasons at all. It’s not like I didn’t want to keep in touch, but,” he had made no plans or had practised any good excuses, “you know how it is, do you? At first, I thought, I’d call, but then I saw no reason for it. I thought to give it all a bit of time. A bit of distance. Mentally and physically.”

Bel listened carefully, hearing him find his way word by word. “Scotland?”

“Yes. I hadn’t taken the offer for another job, so there were no obligations. I thought, after all these years in France and with the Hour, I’ll could grand myself a few weeks off,” he mused, remembering how guilty he had felt at the beginning to spend such long leisure time. Only to relax into the actuality of feeling content, far away from London. Enjoying the solitude of his small cottage. 

“Time goes by, and before you realise, a year is over. Quite embarrassing to call then, “he looked at Bel trying to find some sort of approval or disapproval, but he only found what he always found. Her kindness and understanding. “I didn’t think anyone would care what I am doing, or where I am. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It wasn’t your intention,” Bel only said. “It’s not easy, staying in touch. I am the one who should apologise; I was too harsh to you.”

“No,” he stopped in his tracks, “you were just honest, as you always used to be with me.”

She was aware that his eyes lingered a tad too long on her face before he turned slightly waiting for her to follow. 

While Randall had spent time in Scotland, she had taken the offer to work for the London Times right away. There had been no alternative. Either she took the rare chance of climbing up the career ladder or end up with something way too unsatisfying for doing it the next few years. Not that she had minded. It kept her busy. And when Freddie had made his goodbyes, it was a saviour to be engaged.

“Sometimes I phone with Lix, every few months,” she sighed, watching the same group of kids play a bit of ball on the half wet green. “She is in — “

“ — Rome. Isn’t she? Don’t look at me like that,” he rearranged his hat slightly, “of course, I know where she is as much as I know that Hector is quite well-off with the morning news. Miss Cooper is with you when I remember correctly, and Mister Wengrow is doing the next step of being a good journalist having gone to West-Berlin.”

Certainly and after all these years, Randall still could surprise her like no other - she gaped at him.

“I might not have been good keeping in touch, but I damn well good at knowing where my staff is.”

Bel came to a halt, chuckling. Her hands buried deep in her pockets, looking at him with a twinkle in her eyes, “Your staff?” 

He snapped for air with a smile before lowering his gaze, glancing over the rim of his specs, “ _ Our _ staff.”

Turning away for a moment shy of showing her emotion, she couldn’t help but laugh.

Flustered but also uncertain Randall tried to animate her to keep moving. “Why are you laughing, Miss Rowley?”

Bel blushed, lowering her head to look at both their feet, “You’ll think I am ridiculous.”

Out of curiosity, he had turned his view to the same spot, now glancing back at her, finding her nose buried in his scar, but her eyes almost beaming at him, “There are many things, I think about you. Being ridiculous was never on the list.” For someone being quick-witted in general, she had a hard time to react to his words. “So, why did you laugh?”

“Uhm,” she smirked, her mouth now visible again, “for a second it was like the good old times. You and me in the office, talking about the others. About the news and the day. I miss that, sometimes.”

“I miss it too sometimes,” he offered, to Bel’s surprise. His voice was husky now. As if he was about to get sentimental for a second. He ended the impression with a laugh without opening his mouth, “Eventually, it is as you say; the good old times. The past is no good thing to dwell on it.”

“Hear, hear Mister Brown!” she mocked, and he took it with a short graceful bow. 

“You’re still young, Bel. One day you start a job, and after a while, you are convinced it’s the best job you ever had. When it ends - and every job ends, you’re heartbroken. Then another position comes by, and the game starts anew. You love it; you can imagine doing it forever,” stopping in his tracks, he glanced at her lost in thought for a moment. Only to reach out, adjusting the scarf close to her face, just the slightest. When Randall became aware of what he was doing, he dropped his hand and leaned slightly back, “and then one day, you understand that there is no perfect job. It’s about the journey, and it’s hopefully the best you’ll ever have, till— “

“ — till you decide to retire because there is no more kick in it?” 

Caught, Randall shifted on the spot, his left foot slightly hovering in the air, “sorts.”

Trying to read in his eyes, Bel pondered if she should say something more to it or not. Only to decide it was better to speak up as not to and regret it later, “Is this what you did? Retire? Or is this just a tale you are trying to tell me?”

Like she, Randall buried his hands deep into his pockets, staring at her. Bel didn’t yield; instead, she rose her head, awaiting an answer. 

His mouth went open, about to tell her, it was none of her business, but it stayed with him gaping at her. She was right. It was a tale. A tale he tried to tell himself. “You were right.”

“With what?”

“The Hour.”

Bel couldn’t follow. Mentally and physically. Randall had continued on his way, this time faster as if being haunted. Not willing to let him off the hook like that, she settled in for a short sprint, till she overtook him. Stepping in his way, she pressed her hand against his front, “what do you mean? The Hour?”

This time Randall came to a full-blown halt, gravel crunching under the sole of his leather shoes while turning more into her direction. He watched her hand now lingering by one of his lapels, “It wasn’t the best job I ever had, but the best team. That’s why I stopped working because we’ve been too good for my own sake.” 

Trying to decipher what Randall was saying in her head, she lowered her hand, letting her eyes follow the movement. Randall’s hand had become a fist. 

“So, you … you could have done that forever? The Hour?” she ventured to ask.

His fist unclenched, “I could have with you.” Bel’s head came up quickly, her eyes huge as usual when being overrun, so he quickly added, “and the others, of course.”

He was trying to avoid her interrogating looks, but she had her weapons too, “even with Hector?”

It worked. His eyes darted back to her, and the way he huffed in amusement showed Bel he was close to a small defeat. There was nothing more unmannered for Randall as a lie, “you got me there.”

It was best not to temp Randall. Back in the old days, he would have chosen that exact moment to end all discussions and send everyone to their desks. When with Bel alone, he’d do as if he had some urgent paperwork to do. A charade she had seen through quickly, but never had told him. 

They had reached the end of the park. Across the street, was a line of cabs waiting for those in need. It was the perfection situation to end the day — still, there was something hanging in the air. And this time, it was Randall’s turn. 

“Here,” he reached into the inside of his pocket, to get out the familiar cigarette case, “my number.” He removed the card from under the elastics and held it out to her, only to add, “you can call late.”

She reached for the card and read the numbers, nodding, “you know I will.”

It made him give her one of his thin smiles, “let’s get you a cab. Can’t have the top journalist of the London Times get frostbite.”

Chuckling she let him open up the door for him, and before she could say something against it, Randall also handed the cabby a few pounds. 

His gesture was way too unusual for him, Bel thought. On the other hand, he always had seemed like a real gentleman. Polite and caring, having a thank you and a smile for everyone in the building. He simply never had the chance to show her. 

“Thank you,” he turned back to her, his eyes roaming over her face. Her cheeks red from the cold, and her eyes never letting go of him. 

For a moment, she was tempted to ask him to share the cab, but couldn’t bring up the courage. “What for?”

He hesitated, “particularly, for running into me in the streets,” and added a pleasing smile. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Only when the cab had taken a couple of turns, Bel remembered Randall’s scarf, still hanging around her neck. In shock and surprise, her hand came around the soft fabric, holding it close to her nose once more. 

Whatever this was with Randall, it only seemed the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this is interesting for the reader, but this time I try to write more Bel's POV and leave Randall's in the shadows. This is surprisingly not that easy as expected, but I enjoy it too. 
> 
> A next chapter is in the making and in my head this story is quite well planned out. Let's see how good and fast I'll get this down on virtual paper.
> 
> Thanks for the read!


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